By LesLuv
{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in January 2011 }
I’m sitting in this upmarket café drinking coffee and picking at a blueberry muffin, trying to make sense out of a text on ionic concentration. It’s fairly quiet, about half the tables occupied, not bad for midday on Sunday. I’m writing questions in my notebook when a group of four women walk in, look round, and settle on a table for six a little towards the centre of the room from me. Laughter, chatter, scraping of chairs break my concentration, so I look up to see if I need to leave and find something quieter. I then see a young girl, about six or so I guess, and almost certainly the daughter of the lady she is next to, sitting on the chair nearest to me, listening to the adults around her, looking at the menu. She’s probably only a couple of metres away, and she at least is not making a sound.
They soon settled down, so I return to my reading. A few minutes later I look up, stare into the distance, considering what I have just read when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement is always an attention getter, so I swivel my head and eyes toward it and see the child looking at me. I smile, because she immediately intrigues me. Brown eyes, straight brown hair cut shortish, but my, what a pleasant looking girl. Happy, pretty and obviously not shy.
She smiles back, nods her head in greeting, then pokes out her tongue at me. Not rudely, more cheekily, and it’s amusing. Well, at seventeen I’m too old to be poking my tongue out at her, so I do the first thing that comes into my head,( or more likely the thing that had popped into it the moment I first set eyes on her), I waggle a finger at her. Not any old waggle, either. My hand is resting on the edge of the table, palm up, fingers over the edge nearest to her. I look at her steadily, so she would hold my gaze, and beckon her with my forefinger. Slowly. With more upward motion than the usual signal, then a slow twirl of that same digit. I know what it means, but does she? My idea of cheek plus.
I casually look round the room, just to see if anyone’s interest has suddenly perked at this, but disinterest reigns, so I return my eyes to the child and see she had indeed understood, and more than that, has responded in a way that makes me drop my pen.
She’s casually turned in her chair to face me, and oh so casually opened her legs so I can look up her skirt. Little white knickers with a blue motif. Little white hot lezzie legs. I feel a lovely warm wetness drip from my suddenly tingling cunt, and an urgent desire to get her alone. But how to get a word with her? She might be cheeky, and one of my fantasies has just taken on the shadow of reality, but I sure cannot call her over and sit her on my face. I can, of course, always use the image as I indulge in my favourite pastime, so I implant the pictures of pants, legs, and the crease where they join. My heart is doing crazy things in my chest and I want to put a hand down my jeans, but I’m saved from temptation by the arrival of a waitress.
Study is now a thing of impossibility. I should be out running, clearing my mind of prurient images, planning my next essay, keeping to the upward curve of my projected career. I do not go out with boys, work out at the gym, watch tele, of idle away the hours. I am determined to be a surgeon as was my father, so pastimes are few. But playing with my sex organs is something I have done since I was a toddler, and it has only got better with time. And playing with some little girl’s sexy bits has been just a fantasy until now. It has, I realize, become a drive, although my eyes have been straying for years.
‘Oh, wow,’ I say to myself, ‘what am I getting myself into?’ And I don’t really care.
The waitress is moving around the table when I hear my little siren screech, “Aunty Beth, aunty Beth,” as she evades the reaching hand of her mother and scoots toward the door.
I follow the progress, and do the double take of all time when I see the aim of her dash. It’s my sister-in-law Bethany. What the hell is going on? Is this a movie, or just coincidence?
All eyes turn to the new arrival, greetings called, apologies made by the latecomer. My cherub has been hoisted by Beth and cuddled, a sure sign of long involvement. Yet – yet I don’t know this child, or her mother. Do I?
Beth sits, tot having likewise been replaced, looks around brightly and begins talking to my little girl’s mother. I cannot make out a word, as the whole group is interjecting, and after a few minutes the gab has shifted to another of the women. Beth takes this opportunity to take a drink from the glass in front of her and look around the room.
I’m still watching, unable to take my eyes off this sitcom. She catches sight of me, frowns, is amazed, rises unceremoniously, and advances, arms outstretched.
“Lisa,” she yells, “fancy seeing you here. My god, you’re the last person I expected to see. How are you? And Meredith? And James?”
Meredith is my mother, James my other brother. “I was as surprised as you, I think,” I reply with a grin as I embrace her. Beth is a real sweetie, wonderful mother, and a far greater influence on me than my mother could ever be. She’s married to my eldest brother Phil, and has two kids, aged one and four.
“So, come and join us. This is a real pleasure!”
I have no choice. Bye bye study, and there is a god. Sure, I’m totally dedicated, but I love diddling. I’ve got as few nice clips of little girls masturbating, used as prompts, but I can almost taste this new live tiny twat. I grab my things, grab my chair and slide it across the floor to the other table. There’s a bit of room made at the end nearest, and I finish within inches of my fantasy.
Introductions are made, bio-blog furnished, and all girls together resumes. It turns out that my fantasy girl is the daughter of my sis-in-law’s sis-in-law. In other words, Beth’s brother’s wife. Hence the bond. Her name’s Cecelia, her mother is Lisbeth, also called Beth for confusion’s sake. Cecelia is five, the family have just returned for good from overseas, and Beth (ii) is a dark, vivacious career woman and marvellous entertainer.
There’s plenty for the adults to catch up on, so it is not long before C (“Can I call you Cec?” “Call me ‘C’, everyone does,”) and I are talking, what she likes, what I do, etc., when she says, “Do you like my panties? I chose them myself.”
“Yes, I do. Very nice.” I say this without stuttering or blushing, but that could have been the result. God knows what my pulse rate is.
“What colour are yours?”
“Blue, but plain. Not as pretty as yours.”
“Can I see them?” “Well, not here, but I’d like to.” I roll my eyes around the table. Drop my jeans naturally? Was I really having this conversation?
“You could come home and show me. Mummy won’t mind.”
Now what the hell do I say? For diversion I again look around the table, where the conversation has progressed to airport security, then feel something brushing my leg. A foot. Bare, almost certainly.
“I really like you, Lisa, you’re nice.” Moppet smiles at me, big brown eyes shining, full of five-year-old candour. She then half stands to whisper in her mother’s ear.
Mother, half listening, smiles and after a moment says something back to daughter before looking up at me. “Lisa,” she says, an older version of her daughter, “may I ask you something? Seeing how we’re family, well, kind of?”
Returning the smile I nod, and say, “Sure.” Anticipation is making me wet again.
“We’ve only been back a week, and things are pretty hectic. We’ve leased an apartment at the new waterfront development until we decide where to buy, and apart from our friends we know no one here. John is dashing between New York and here, so, seeing you’re studying and all, if you could help us out? Come and do some babysitting? C likes you, she’s bright and easy to look after, and it would give me some time to do some of the tedious legal stuff needed. Pay you well, all you can eat, and a few hours a week?”
I don’t want to sound too eager, so I pretend to consider the offer, frowning and saying, “There’s a lot of work I have to do before the end of the year, and actually I would like the chance of some quiet. Things are noisy at home, and I’d be closer to college. So, yes, I’d like to do some babysitting for you and C. I’ve done quite a bit of that for some friends of mum. About how many hours, and how often would you want me, do you think?”
“Ah.” She pauses for quite a while, considering. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, we’d dearly love for someone to come in as a nanny, full time, duties such as preparing meals, school runs, shopping and stuff. Own quarters, use of a car, and, well, I’m not sure the going rate these days, but how about 500 a week?”
I can feel my eyes bulging. Although I’m at a complete loss for words, I do manage a strangled “Yes. Thanks.” To hell with the consequences. What consequences, anyway?
“Want to start today?”
“Jesus, you don’t give a person a lot of time, do you?” I say with a grin, recovering my mind quickly. “I’ll need to get some things, tell mum, you know.”
“Yippee!” screams C at the top of her voice. “You can show me your – ” seeing my look of alarm, she adds meekly ” – textbooks.”
*****
It is a fabulous apartment, eighth floor, three big bedrooms, mine with sitting room and en suite, every conceivable artifact, wonderful views over the bay, the docks, the city, but boy it’s untidy. They really have just shifted in, with boxes, crates, assorted unknowns stacked anywhere. The kitchen has been attended to, but I can see a great deal of work in front of me. But for $500 a week, a car and all I can eat, I am willing to bale hay if that is something they want. Not even counting the extracurricular benefits on offer. Mum, when we get there, is her usual sorry self, nonplussed but courteous to Lisbeth and Cecelia, and we all pretty much ignore her for the time we are present. I am very glad to be moving out. Feeling proud, I reckon my hard work and dedication is paying off early.
We go through a form of introduction to nannying, go out to dinner, come back, shift boxes and make beds. C falls asleep, having kissed us both goodnight, and I’m in my bed by 9.30, too exhausted to fantasize.
I wake to a sense of body warmth. Someone sleeping gently next to me. This is a first. A sweet, girly smelling first. I open my eyes and see two bright brown eyes regarding me. A grin to set the angels aflame.
“Can I see them now?”
It takes a moment to follow the question – then, “Don’t wear them to bed. Just a nightie.”
“I’ve got my pink ones on now. Want to see?”
Oh shit. Do I want to see? I do, so much. “I’d like that. Do they have flowers on them?”
Shake of the head in disgust. “No, course not. Hearts.”
The bedclothes are legged down, a young body wearing pink knickers revealed. The effort of pushing down the blankets has ridden my shortie nightie right up under my armpits. Still not Awake, I feel the tell-tale warmth of musky, sticky discharge from between my legs and the thrill of mounting libido.
“You’ve got hair like mummy.” I feel a small hand play with my curls, and I’ve got straight pale hair on my head. The fingers are charged with a million volts, and I gasp.
“Do you like that? You’ve got lovely boobs.”
I like them too. “Yes, I do like that. Very much.” Without asking, I put my fingers at the apex of her legs and gently slide one up and down that prepubescent fold. “Do you like me doing that?”
“Oh, yes, but I like it inside better.” She opened her legs. “Would you do that?”
I do, and feel the dampness, the little girl juice that lines the developing entrance to her womanhood. Her vagina. Her cunt. Words I love to savour in the privacy of my own bedroom, but right now I want more than a feel or a few words. “Can I try something else?” I ask as we continue to play.
“Course you can. Can I suck your boobs?”
“Of course. I love that. But in a minute, OK? Right now I want you put a leg each side of me, then slide up towards my mouth. Have you ever had juicy licks?”
“No! Oh, I love adventures.”
“Well, that’s what you’re having for breakfast today, young miss C. I’m your nanny, so you have to do what I say.”
Giggles, mock compliance, and this question: “Do your boobs have milk in them? I like milk for breakfast.”
“No, not unless I’m going to have a baby. But you can try. OK, over with the legs, and lean back, legs straight out in front.”
Complied with, I slide the panties down, an inch at a time, revealing in tantalising slow motion the proto-pubes, the hairless beauty of erotic childhood, the reality of years of fantasy. Rapturous. My own pubes are itching, dripping and yearning for you-know-what.
The knickers finally off, I say, “Now sit up, my pet, and slide forwards. I put my hands behind her bum and help. “Open your legs wide, close your eyes and get ready.”
Another squeal as she does so. I lift her up a little and slide her forward toward my slavering mouth, watching and marvelling at the pleasures that lay hidden beneath the outer perfection that is drawing near. But, like all anticipated pleasures, my id is active in exposing a dramatic oversight.
“Oh. C, where’s your mum?”
“Gone out, silly. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
Begone dull id! Nought is there to worry of.
I breathe again, smelling the body of my little lover. Ah, yes. Slowly my tongue reaches out and begins to lick. The fantasy fulfilled. The very feel of my tongue in that silky-smooth organ, the taste, the sensuous delight of a girl in my mouth is more than I imagined it would be. Reality at its best – at last. I probe, vibrate and dart. My heart pounding, my body tingling. One touch on my pubes and I’ll cum, sigh and cum again. Delicious creamy juice, sexual promise in a budding flower fills my senses.
A moan from above me. Whisper, “Oh that is so nice. I’m shaking. Oh, do it some more. Yes.” Breathless. “Ah. Yes, Ah! Ah! Ah!” And a long, drawn out sigh. Then the collapse.
I slide her a bit to one side so I can breathe. After a minute I say, “So, you like juicy licks?’
She rolls over, looks at me with wonder, and says, simply and shockingly, “You’re better than mummy. Can I have some more, please?”
My mind goes into spasm. Mother and daughter? How could that be? Surely it must be – what, I don’t know. Wonderful, probably. What a restricted life I have lived. “Sure, but a bit later, hey?”
But my miss is unconcerned, because she begins suckling, the first time anyone has sucked on my breasts, and I get a glimpse into the joys of motherhood. It feels so, well, good. I stroke her hair, smile and tell her she’s wonderful. She is.
After a little she stops and says, “Mummy likes me to suck her like you did me. Want me to do it to you?”
“Oh, yes please, my darling. As much as you like.” Never turn an offer like this down. If mummy is good with it, you can bet I’ll be.
She slides down, pushes my legs apart, and begins sucking my clitoris. She knows exactly where it is, and so, by god, do I. And what it does. But that’s not all she does for mummy. Incredibly I feel two small fingers slide into my cunt and begin pumping. Jeesus, it’s good. Bye bye vibrator, welcome little fingers.
She keeps going, a fit five year old doing favours, fucking me as I have only ever dreamt of. Hot, wet dreams. Hot, wet reality. I feel a burgeoning heat, tachycardia of every sense, and it’s no more than three minutes and I’m cumming. It is so good. The best orgasm I have ever had, the most intense emotions possible. I yell, I cry, I collapse, shaking all over.
A small head comes and nestles into me. “I’m glad you’re my nanny, because we can do this all the time. Did I do it right?”
I shakily pull her up towards me, hold her tight, kiss her neck, run my tongue down her chest, kiss her nose, and sigh. “That was just the best. You are just the best. I like being here.”
“You taste really nice, Lisa, nicer than mummy even. I’m so happy.” She gives me a big slurpy on the mouth, then on a boob, and says, all in one breath, “I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, and I’m sweaty. What’s for breakfast?”
*****
The next three days go by in a blur. C has started school, a nice privately run primary attached to a prestigious college, in fact the college I am attending, so this new happening of mine has a predestined feel. Beth and I both go on her first day, although her mum stays only a minute or two. Business, it appears, is frantic. I see my charge settled safely, and am glad she seems to take all the newness in her stride. I walk across the grounds to the senior campus, knowing my work is well below par, but determined to catch up.
Our extracurricular stuff has been wonderful, and is settling into a workable pattern. Not routine, something different each time – the latest thing being the deft and gleeful use of mum’s push up vibrating egg – I’m still shaking – but manageable given my determination to get the place tidy, neat, clean and homely, spend enough time cooking and shopping, and settling down for some serious study. Beth has left virtually everything to me, C has been wonderful if somewhat demanding, but given her life so far that is not surprising. I can cope, and my bank account is positive for the first time in months.
The fourth day is different.
My cell phone rings about 1.30, as I’m having lunch. Beth saying she’ll pick up C after school and take her shopping for some clothes. Did I want to come, but thanks, no thanks I can use the time with a tutor. I do, working through a history of science project that I thought would be boring, but is chock full of interest.
I get home before six, walking through the park in a winter’s gloom. The lights are on, warmth flowing, but no personnel visible. Dump my things and am getting a drink when I hear giggles. Not close, but I smile. C is up to something, so I go looking. The final place I look is the master bedroom, revealing proof that C had not been making up stories about the things she and her mother get up to.
Two naked female bodies, arms around each other, waiting for me to find them. More giggles.
I am not totally surprised, given my previous revelations, but I do a double take anyway. I still find the idea of paedophilia awkward. Certainly between mother and child. But then, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m an adult, seventeen, having sex with a five year old, so Beth, at twenty-nine, is only twelve years older than me. Beth is not only a beautiful and attractive woman, but she has a body like – well, Venus, I guess – big, firm breasts, unblemished skin, flat tummy and black, shiny pubic hair. And beautiful, in the same engaging way that her daughter is. But.
“Come on, Lisa, come on,” young miss C is patting the bed beside her, bouncing up and down. “We want to make it three. It’s so exciting.”
Well, it is more than that. Considerably. As I hesitate, Beth hushes her daughter.
“What is it, Lisa? Come, sit on the bed.” Beth is serious, quick to pick the vibes.
I don’t sit. I’m in turmoil. Suddenly, what I really want is uppermost. For the first time in years, my emotions overwhelm me and I burst into tears.
C is out of bed in a flash and hugging me round the waist, Beth is also out of bed and reaching for a dressing gown. Clever woman.
She holds my hand, says, “let’s sit in the kitchen,” and steers us gently in that direction.
Cups of tea, silence – even C just sitting on my lap and cuddling me – until I finally look up an smile wanly. “Some performance, eh?” I say.
“Want to tell me about it?” Nice Beth.
I take a deep breath. Finally, I say, “I have a thing about paedophiles. I always supposed they were men, but when I saw you two it hit me that you were too, and that therefore I was also. And I suddenly realised where my fantasies had led me.”
Silence. C clings to me even more tightly.
” Some part of my illusions got swept away, I guess, and it was uncomfortable. But there’s more than that. I have this driving ambition to be a surgeon, which is about the hardest thing I could have chosen. It’s going to take total dedication, and I suddenly saw all this – ” I swept my hand in the air – “messing that up. I want that so much, but – ” another pause, ” – what do you think, Beth? You’ve got more perspective than me, and – I do like it here. So much. And you, C, I like you very, very much.” I look at her and smile, kiss her beautiful brown hair, and pull her close.
“We don’t deserve you, this family I mean.” Beth shakes her head gently. “I come on so hot and strong, forget that you are not a raging sexaholic, that you are a decent, moral young lady who happens to like little girls. I do too, but it was wrong of me to assume you would go further. I apologise.” Another silence. “but as to your ambition, nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of the fulfillment of your dreams. However – and here I’m also being selfish – I am sure that you goal will be reached if you do decide to stay here. And, although I was not going to mention this, John is on the UNICEF steering committee, and has so much influence that really nothing is too hard for him. We can help. I can make sure your study is not interrupted. And I’ve already come to think of you as more than just a nanny, but a part of our lives.” She paused and looked at me intently, then added, “But the decision is yours. No one can make that for you.”
I cry again. This time with relief. I want to stay, want to be part of this family, want to have an older woman to talk to, one who has not been soured by the the death of her husband. I stumble over and embrace her.
“Thank you, thank you so much. I want to stay. I need to stay, and when I consider the alternatives, well, it’s no contest.” I pick up C and give her a cuddle. ‘And as for you, my demanding young charge, we are going to the science museum tomorrow. You are going to learn.”
“Hooray! Can we go to bed now, please?”
We eventually do, but after some kissing and cuddling I am unable to sleep. Five-year-old has no problems in this regard, so I rise, thinking maybe of getting a drink, but find my legs carrying me to the master bedroom. Beth is reading in bed, looks up, smiles, and before I can think I am in bed with her, sliding down until I can place my mouth over her cunt, where I begin sucking, licking, and using my fingers to full effect.
It is not long before she is writhing, moaning and cumming with such uninhibited exuberance that I am tossed around, and have to make efforts to maintain my station. I enjoy this ride immensely.
When things have quietened down, I slide up to lie beside her.
“It wasn’t me that got me here, just my legs. But I’m here now, full of your juice and full of your joy. Perhaps a threesome next time?”
Next morning we do just that, my concubine and I.
Continue on to Part Two
